Matt

by Lori Wilde

  He reached for her.

  She collapsed against his chest.

  Marrying Gary in order to provide for her little sister had probably cost Savannah more than he would ever know. She’d swallowed her pride, put her feelings for him aside and proceeded to do what had to be done in order to survive. How could he blame her for that?

  Suddenly, Matt felt like the world’s biggest jerk. He’d behaved like a spoiled brat, blaming Savannah for leaving him, when in reality, he was the one who had abandoned her. Just like her father had abandoned her those many years ago.

  She’d been young, alone, desperate. And she had turned to the only man who’d offered a helping hand. Gary Markum had been there for her, while he’d been off chasing his own dreams. Shame at his selfishness flooded Matt’s body with guilty heat.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and whispering into her hair.

  She whimpered, eyes still unfocused. Did she sleepwalk often? he wondered. He didn’t want to awaken her. Best she remain asleep and blissfully ignorant.

  All this time, he’d blamed her for dumping him, never fully understanding what had driven her to leave him, to marry Markum. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, plead for a second chance.

  But he couldn’t. Why hurt her more? She’d made a life for herself and her son, why should he try to force her into giving him vvhat she could not? She was unable to accept his identity as a lawman, and he couldn’t conceive of himself as anything else.

  Clearly, things would never work out between them. But that sad fact made loving her more poignant. This time, he would swallow his own needs and put her first. He would not make things harder for her by confessing his love. He refused to wound her again. Savannah deserved that much consideration from him.

  He sank down on the couch, drawing her with him. Wrapping himself around her trembling frame, he tucked her into the curve of his arms until they lay like spoons, nestled side by side on the couch.

  A perfect fit. If only he could hold her like this for eternity.

  Burrowing his face in the back of her neck, he pressed his lips to her velvety skin and inhaled her appetizing aroma. Her sweet vanilla scent evoked in his mind images of rich, chewy, chocolate-chip cookies, softly flickering candles and warm sudsy bubble baths.

  Memories rolled through his mind.

  Savannah, fresh from a swim at Turner Falls, a skimpy, pink-and-green swimsuit clinging to her luxurious curves, looking for the world like an exotic sea goddess.

  Savannah, on their first date, the shy coquette, who’d turned quickly playful, suddenly ready to surrender herself to him, until he’d been the one to apply the brakes before things had gotten out of control.

  Savannah, indignant over having her cattle stolen, her lovely features creasing into a frown as she wondered how she would pay the bills and continue to support her little family.

  Savannah, on Ginger’s wedding day, proud surrogate mother, smiling majestically, head held high, shoulders straight, watching as he gave away the sister she’d ushered into adulthood.

  And Savannah, the fierce Madonna, sitting at her kitchen table, cradling her infant son to her chest, her face glowing with love for the tiny tot.

  Ah, hell, Matt thought, and gulped past the lump in his throat. How stupid could one hardheaded man be?

  He’d given up so much to pursue his career. For the first time ever, Matt Forrester wondered if becoming a lawman had been worth the exorbitant price he had paid.

  Chapter E ight

  Savannah opened her eyes. A predawn glow blushed through the half-drawn drapes, slanting a rosy shadow across the room. Blinking, she stared at the coffee table and saw Matt’s gun resting there. She frowned. What on earth?

  Her gaze traveled downward. Burly forearms bunched around her midsection. Hissing in a breath, Savannah realized she was lying on the living room couch encased in Matt Forrester’s embrace.

  His chin pressed into her upper back, his pelvic region molded against her hips, his hairy legs entwined with hers. A faint snoring sound rumbled near her ear.

  Oh, my gosh. She panicked, her thoughts conjuring wild scenarios. How did I get here? What happened last night? Have I been sleepwalking again? It was an affliction that had plagued her on several occasions after her mother’s death, but she hadn’t sleepwalked since Cody’s birth, and never with such disastrous results.

  Gingerly, she lifted Matt’s right arm and tried to slide from his grasp. He mumbled incoherently, snuggled deeper and clung tighter.

  Oh, dear, oh, dear. How to extricate myself without waking him and facing an embarrassing predicament?

  She tried again, easing her left leg to the floor. Her toes curled into the rug. One limb freed.

  Shifting, she tried to scoot her buttocks away from him, but he only pulled her closer and tunneled a hand under the hem of her nightshirt.

  Savannah froze, Matt’s palm grafted to her upper thigh. Was he awake, feigning sleep and enjoying her plight? She gritted her teeth. That sounded like Matt Forrester, all right.

  “Matt,” she whispered, trying to ignore the warm sensations radiating from his hand throughout her leg and beyond. Unfortunately, it felt too good, she had to escape.

  “Matt?” she asked, a little louder this time.

  No response.

  She waited, listening.

  His chest rose and fell against her back in a slow, steady rhythm. Dead asleep. Some protector he turned out to be. This guy would have slept through the Los Angeles earthquake. The thieves could have waltzed in and stolen the clothing off their bodies without him being any the wiser.

  Savannah lay there a moment, one leg on the floor, the other captured beneath Matt’s weight, straddling the edge of the couch and contemplating her next move. Briefly, she considered elbowing him sharply in the ribs. She smiled. That plan of action held some appeal. She might have been sleepwalking, but he was the one who’d allowed her to curl up next to him.

  Her left arm was numb and when she tried to wriggle it out from under him, it refused to move. Damn.

  From the bedroom, she heard Cody whimper.

  To heck with this.

  Abruptly, she shoved Matt’s arm aside. Good grief, she thought, struggling against his torpid resistance. He weighs a ton.

  His snore turned into a snort. Bolting into an upright position, Matt dumped Savannah to the floor in a tangled sprawl. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his gun on the coffee table.

  “What’s happened? What’s going on? Axe Larkins and Thompson after the cattle?” he shouted, the gun in his palm pointed at the ceiling.

  Savannah stared up at him from her unsavory vantage point on the floor. His eyes were bleary. His dark hair stuck out at various angles. Pillow creases lined his face. Pale legs protruded from his bright red boxer shorts, contrasting markedly with his tanned bare chest and arms. Like most cowboy types, Matt had never been one to wear short pants.

  Pointing a finger at his sleep-disheveled state, Savannah burst into peals of laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” he growled.

  “I need a picture of this,” she managed past the giggles. “I could blackmail you for millions.”

  Looking chagrined, Matt located his leather holster thrown over the back of the couch and holstered the weapon. He retrieved his undershirt from the floor and tugged it over his head. Helplessly, Savannah’s gaze followed his every move. Despite his drowsy appearance, Matt Forrester was one fine specimen of manhood.

  “Quit staring at me,” he groused, running a hand through his hair to tame his crimped locks. “I must look like the back end of a bull.”

  “ ’Bout as friendly as one, too. I’d forgotten how grouchy you are in the mornings,” she said.

  “Hmph.”

  She extended her hand. “Help me up and I’ll go put on the coffee.’ ’

  He reached down to boost her to her feet. Their hands touched. The unexpected sexual gleam glowing in his ey
es had Savannah sucking in a deep breath.

  They both seemed to realize the amatory nature of their situation at the same time. Two seminaked adults who’d spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms on the edge of a couch. Savannah quickly averted her gaze, and Matt faked a cough.

  Cody’s wail brought instant relief to the awkward moment.

  They started for the bedroom at the same time and collided into each other. Savannah’s head caught Matt on the chin.

  “Ouch,” he complained, stroking his jaw.

  “Didn’t help me much, either.” She massaged the top of her head with a hand.

  “I’ll go get the baby, you put on the coffee,” he said.

  “I’m sure he’s wet. Unless you want to change a diaper, you better put on the coffee and I’ll get Cody.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  She went for the bedroom, he departed to the kitchen.

  Savannah turned on the light and greeted her son with a tender smile. “Morning, Cody Coo, are you hungry?”

  He quieted instantly and reached for her with both arms outstretched.

  “Bet my big boy is wet, too.” She changed his diaper, then lifted him over the crib railing. She was always amazed at how light he felt in the mornings. He clutched her neck, pressed slobbery kisses to her cheek.

  Savannah laughed. Joy bubbled inside her as she waltzed Cody into the kitchen. Her heart floated free and giddy as a kid’s kite in March. Her son never failed to cheer her.

  Matt had not only started the coffee, but he’d set a skillet of bacon to frying, as well. He stood at the stove, tongs in his hand. While she’d changed Cody, Matt had shimmied into his blue jeans and plaid cotton shirt. He’d also thrown on an apron that proclaimed, Kiss the Cook.

  Feeling conspicuous in her nightgown, Savannah settled Cody into his high chair, then went back to her bedroom to don work clothes. She returned to the kitchen to find Matt talking to Cody and peeling a banana for him to gnaw on.

  Was this what it would have been like to be married to Matt? she wondered, a stab of regret needling her. The two of them, cooking breakfast together, sharing parenting duties, planning the day’s activities?

  Gary had been the old-fashioned type. He considered the household chores woman’s work and everything outdoors strictly for men. He’d risen every morning at four to feed the livestock and returned to the house at six, expecting his breakfast to be on the table. He’d been a decent, hardworking man, but not a particularly demonstrative one, and although they’d shared the same house, the same bed, she and Gary had never connected on an intimate level. Savannah knew things would have been much different with Matt.

  “Hi, Mommy,” Matt said, his gaze roving over her body, his stare fixating on the rounded curve of her blue-jeaned bottom.

  Savannah didn’t miss the look of appreciation reflected in his eyes. She felt a heated flush run the length of her neck. Eager to distract her thoughts, she reached into the cabinet, and retrieved two mugs. Pouring the coffee, she remembered Matt took his black. She slid the mug across the counter to him, then leveled two spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup.

  Taking a tin of biscuits from the refrigerator, Matt popped them open against the corner of the stove and arranged them on a greased cookie sheet before sliding them into the preheated oven.

  Cody garbled in a singsong voice and smashed handfuls of banana against the high-chair tray.

  Savannah leaned against the counter and sipped her coffee. The scene before her looked so natural, so domestic, a nugget of longing clutched in her throat like gold in a miner’s pan. How she wished she could hold on to this moment forever.

  “You like your eggs sunny-side up, right?” Matt stated before cracking two eggs into the frying pan. Why in the Sam Hill couldn’t he stop grinning? He felt like a simpleton just smiling and smiling and smiling. Was this what it would feel like to wake up beside Savannah Prentiss Markum every morning? Or what about Savannah Prentiss Forrester?

  “You remembered how I like my eggs.”

  Matt heard pure delight echo in her voice. He felt proud, as if he’d offered her a priceless gift.

  “I remember most everything about you, Savy,” he whispered. His tongue moved, stiffened against his teeth. He heaved in a breath, searched for the inner strength to continue. His chest muscles bunched, tight, knotted. “Your smell haunts me. It’s so genuine. So simple. Like bright sunshine and homemade bread.”

  Setting down the tongs, he stepped halfway across the kitchen in one stride. He placed both hands on her shoulders, gazed squarely into her face. “The way you move,” he continued. “So refined. Slow but calculated. Graceful.” She fluttered those sandy eyelashes at him, set her coffee cup on the counter. His blood pressure climbed a notch as he continued. “I remember how ticklish you are in that one spot right behind your knees and...”

  “Okay,” she said sharply. She placed her palms on his chest and pushed him away. “I get the picture.”

  “What do you remember about me?” he asked, reaching out to twine her hair around his index finger.

  She shrugged, stepped back. “That was a long time ago, Matt. I’ve slept a few times since then.”

  Defense mechanism, he thought. She’s trying to guard her feelings, hide behind nonchalance, but he wouldn’t let her. Not now. Not this time.

  “But not as good as you slept in my arms last night, eh, Savy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a peppery voice.

  His grinned widened. “Go on, deceive yourself if you want to, but I know the truth.”

  “I prefer to discontinue this conversation.” She tossed her head in that haughty way of hers.

  “Reality too hot for you to handle, huh, babe?” he goaded, quirking an eyebrow at her.

  “Eat my shorts, Forrester.”

  “Gladly. Anytime.”

  She stamped her bare foot. Matt looked down, his gaze riveted by her pearly pink toenails.

  “You haven’t changed one whit!” she said.

  “Come on, Savy, don’t swell up on me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said frostily, marching over to the microwave to heat water for Cody’s cereal.

  “You like to pout when someone gets the best of you,” he teased.

  “You...” She slanted him a sidelong glance and shouldered past him to retrieve a bowl from the drainboard. “Have never gotten the best of me.”

  “Oh, no? What about that time on my uncle’s farm when...”

  “Matt,” she warned, before he could complete the sentence.

  He winked broadly, picked up a spatula to flip the eggs. “Yeah. You’re right. That memory is definitely X-rated. Better not mention it in front of the kid.”

  “You’re outrageous,” she accused.

  “And you’re capricious,” he retorted.

  “Me! Capricious?”

  “Yep. You’ve always been a bit flighty. Running hot, then cold.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you cuddling up on the couch with me last night, then getting self-righteous about it this morning.”

  “Why.. .why, that’s ridiculous,” she sputtered. Did he really believe that? “I didn’t curl up next to you on the couch.”

  “Then how did you get there?”

  She waved a hand. “And I’m not self-righteous or flighty.”

  “Oh, no?” He gripped two plates loaded with bacon and eggs. “Then why did you marry Gary straight out of the blue when you were in love with me? Some people might consider that flighty behavior.”

  “That’s not fair. I married Gary because I had no other choice.”

  “You could have waited for me.”

  “And supported my sister on what? Love?” She spat out the word.

  “That’s just an excuse to justify your mistake.”

  Settling her hands on her hips, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. What mistake a
re you talking about?”

  “Leaving me. Marrying Markum. Admit it, Savannah, you didn’t leave me because of my career or because I couldn’t support you. You left because you couldn’t handle a real relationship.” He heard the agony in his own voice. Her betrayal still ate at him.

  “I don’t call dumping a two-timing, thrill-seeking jerk who uses law enforcement as a reason to take dangerous risks a mistake,” Savannah sassed.

  “That’s a load of bull and you know it.” Matt slammed the plates down. Bacon and eggs flew across the counter, flopped to the floor, leaving a trail of grease. “I never two- timed you. You’ve got a problem with trust, missy.” He shook a finger. “Don’t be laying your faults off on me.”

  Cody opened his mouth and bawled, halting the argument in mid-fracas.

  “Look what you did!” Savannah glared at him, releasing Cody from the high chair and gathering the baby to her breasts.

  “Me? You’re blaming me for this?”

  “Yes.” She thrust out her jaw. “I never asked you to stay the night. Sorry I sleepwalked. I didn’t know it would offend you so much.”

  “There you go.” Matt threw his hands in the air. “Pouting again. I never said I was offended by it. On the contrary. I enjoyed curling up with you. What I don’t understand is why you can’t enjoy it, too.”

  No, he couldn’t understand her fear of loving him too much.

  “I think you better leave,” she said. Her eyes focused on the egg white quivering near her big toe.

  “The biscuits,” Matt exclaimed suddenly, smoke billowing from around the oven door.

  Swearing, he grabbed for a pot holder, jerked open the oven door and removed the pan of charred, smoldering biscuits. Moving quickly, he dumped them into the sink.

  Yeah, Savannah thought. This is what it would be like to share the kitchen with Matt Forrester every morning. Useless arguments, burned biscuits, hurt feelings.